


The Line

by Li Prouvaire (LiProuvaire)



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Character Death, Guns, Last Thoughts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6072255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiProuvaire/pseuds/Li%20Prouvaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tiny ficlet<br/>Eggsy's last thoughts after a life of happiness with Harry and all his loved ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Line

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this tiny thing came to me and I simply couldn't shake it off. I'm sorry in advance.

It was a long bundle of electric wires, each a bright colour faded out to white by the lamp that hung from the end of it. It was a light like blindness, and it swung. Left, right, left, right, a pendulum that didn’t seem to stop, and Eggsy wondered if this was it. After all the years and the indescribable things he’d seen, this would be the thing that would drive him mad. Left, right...

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, and water was but a distant memory, except from when it was doused across his face by the shadows that circled the room. Did they follow the path of the lamp? Were they going against it? Were they even really there? Left, right, left, right… A person walked into the room, and it was a voice he’d heard many times in the last month (months?) that he’d been kept there. In steady intervals, the person it belonged to would enter, ask the same question every time, and leave. He hadn’t believed a voice could crawl upon his skin before he heard this one. For the first time, the question changed into something else.

“If you don't tell me what Kingsman is, this is the end of the line for you.” He supposed it was meant to sound like a threat, but Eggsy sighed, and simply looked up at the light.

Left, right…

Daisy. Daisy was so grown up. That rosy cheeked girl was too much like himself, so overflowing with wit and stubbornness. She’d remember him. And not like he remembered his father, like a dream you wake up from and struggle to recall, a pinprick in the back of your head, no, she’d remember good things. “Hey luv, ya know who loves you more than anythin’ else in the world?” She’d have good things he never dreamt he would be able to give her. An education. A home. A safe world. Her bright smile would put that swinging lamp to shame. “You, and mommy, and Harry and auntie Rox and uncle Merlin.” 

He breathed out. She’d be okay. His mother would do better this time around. She was already doing so much better. Bright eyes, flowers on the windowsills, hugs as soft as rain, fragments that seemed so foreign to him, but so vivid at the same time. Mugs with no chips on the rims, drawings on fridges, snowglobes his sister wouldn’t have to worry about keeping clear of his stepfather’s rage. After spending years and years imagining something, you forget how those things are actually transposable into reality. 

Reality. A clatter across the room. The light dashed across the floor. His head fell forward in exhaustion, but the barrel of a gun pressed, icy and warm against his forehead.

He remembered the fading autumn light filtering through the lace curtains as he shared a meal with his friends. Their smiles, the clinking of their glasses, the trust. Roxy was the friend he’d never expected to find. Someone who had a constant shoulder ready for his laments, a light grin that said ‘you’re a fool, but I love you’, an admonishment under her tongue at the ready for when he inadvertently made an arse of himself, which was an undeniable constant. He should have thanked her a bit more often perhaps.

In his mind, another gun is aimed at another life, under the hot sun of that godforsaken church in the middle of America. His love, the resurrected man. There had been no halo around his head. No sacred beam of light shining on him, on that hospital bed, but the guiding light of his eyes had been enough. He was sea and he was land, and his soft breathing in that sweet time between night and dawn filled spaces in his heart Eggsy hadn’t known existed. 

Something felt wet on his face and he realised there were tears coming down his cheeks. Harry, Harry, Harry… The tip of his nose against the back of Eggsy’s ear as he tried to do the dishes, what a loving pest. His deep voice, so tender even when they stood back to back, surrounded by enemies. “I’ll see you on the other side.” Too much jam on toasted bread, mint and black tea in his breath, suits strewn across the floorboards, a trail to bliss. Whispered confessions of love in the false anonymity of the dark. That daft old man thought he’d die before him. 

“Are they really worth it?” The voice surfaced again, steady as a knife. “Think about it.”

Eggsy smiled, slow and soft. The light travelled once again across his eyes.  _ I’ll beat you this time, love. _

“I don’t have to.”  _ See you on the other side. _


End file.
